like father, like son
by endlessly wandering
Summary: "I suppose you want to hear how I survived the war and came home to my son; how I survived the war and made it home with no cuts, no bruises, no memories...well, this isn't that type of tale. Tough luck, ain't it?"


_Not entirely sure where this came from. My mind must be in a different place than Wild Horses at the moment. Apologies._

 _If you are a fan/have read my story of gunfire and bullet wounds, imagine this as a sort of alternate ending. Of course, do not feel obligated. Do as you please. _

**like father, like son**

"Mother, what was my father like?"

Her eyes settled on her son, so small and meek in the corner of the room. He sat slouched rather profoundly next to the fire, the upper half of his body dimly lit by the warm fire beside him. She could barely see his face, but she could see his eyes; so bright and beautiful, much like his father's. Those eyes stared intently back at her, narrowed with a want—no, a need—to understand just whose blood he was also made of.

She smiled almost as if the recollection pained her, but spoke regardless. "Your father... what can I say? What do you want to know, little one?"

"Tell me about the war," his voice carried like birdsong from across the room. He was so far away, and yet, he felt as if he were right beside her. "Was he smart? Was he strong? Was he brave?"

She folded her hands in her lap; she closed her eyes. Then, without opening them, she started to daydream inside of her head, speaking anything that came to mind in the hope that her son would listen.

"I don't know much about the war simply because I wasn't in it. I do know from letters your father wrote me, however, that it was rather brutal. Countless bodies fell each day, and in every rising sun and every setting moon I hoped and prayed to God that one of those bodies would never, ever be him.

"Was he smart? The brightest man I ever knew. Was he strong? The strongest man I ever knew besides your grandfather. Was he brave—"

She stopped cold, feeling something tear within her body. Looking herself over, she found nothing torn or bruised on her skin; it was only as it happened again, harder this time, that she realized it wasn't a bone or a bruise. Ignoring it, she continued on.

"He was so brave; so, so brave. I've never seen a man so devoted to serving other people and making sure they had everything they needed. I've never seen a man care so deeply for everyone above himself. I've never seen a man openly send himself off to war so quickly and adapt as quickly as he did."

"Did you love him, mother?"

That hit her hard, of all things that should've sent her reeling. The pang inside of her came again. This time? She knew.

She knew what it was, what telling her son next would do to her; but even so, the words fell from her lips like rain.

"I loved him more than anything. More than the sky, more than the moon, more than the stars above our heads each night. I loved him more than I loved nature; the wind in my hair, the grass beneath my feet... I loved him more than time; the moments we had together, right down to the final second where I last felt his lips graze mine and felt a rush of cold where his body had been pressed to mine...every moment I loved, but not as much as I loved him. He was such a special man, and you are such a special boy because you are his son."

There was a moment in that entire sequence in which she began to cry. She didn't realize it until her son came forth, stumbling over his own feet and approaching her rather delicately. He stood before her now, his eyes worried and his brow furrowed slightly. Lightly, he reached up and brushed a tear away from her eye; feeling the way his hand touched her skin only caused her to cry harder.

It was then that he hugged her, his small arms just barely wrapping around her neck. In a split second, a fragment of time, she was suddenly taken back. Back to that moment where they had to say goodbye; goodbye for what she never thought would be the last time. Back to the moment where his hands just lightly danced across her skin, where his lips never left hers—

She smiled fondly and held her son, her little big man, tighter to her.


End file.
